


No Choice

by Aarlauna_Rose



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, F/M, Many Super Mutants Were Harmed in the Writing of this Story, Non-Canon Relationship, Strategic Cliffhanger, The Railroad (Fallout)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aarlauna_Rose/pseuds/Aarlauna_Rose
Summary: “No choice. We’ll have to bust through.”It was obvious that Deacon wasn’t thrilled with the idea. It had been a long, long week, and all both of them wanted to do was fall on a bed that wasn’t covered in filth. The idea of picking a fight with a few super mutants was far from appealing. But the other routes were blocked-- the only other option would be to back out of Lexington and go completely around, and neither of them had the energy for it. Realizing this, Deacon sighed and pulled out his gun.“Well, at least there’s only half a dozen of them. Beats staring down a deathclaw any day.”
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	No Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short thing I wrote whist bemoaning the inability to romance Deacon in Fallout 4. This might become a longer thing, I'm not sure. We'll see if my wayward muse returns.

“No choice. We’ll have to bust through.” 

It was obvious that Deacon wasn’t thrilled with the idea. It had been a long, long week, and all both of them wanted to do was fall on a bed that wasn’t covered in filth. The idea of picking a fight with a few super mutants was far from appealing. But the other routes were blocked-- the only other option would be to back out of Lexington and go completely around, and neither of them had the energy for it. Realizing this, Deacon sighed and pulled out his gun. 

“Well, at least there’s only half a dozen of them. Beats staring down a deathclaw any day.” 

Evelyn shook her head, grinning as she checked the safety on her sniper. “If they were deathclaws, we’d hardly get slowed down at all.” It was one of the Legends, after all, and in fact, one of the tales Deacon had told Desdemona to get her into the Railroad (highly embellished in his version, of course). Not long after coming out of cryo, she’d been on the trail of Kellogg. Just outside Boston, Nick, Dogmeat and Evelyn ran into a pair of deathclaws. No warning, no chance to run. It was a fight that very nearly cost her life, and she still bore the scars on her face. Sure, she could get them removed, but she saw it as a reminder, just as intimate and important as the other significant, irreplaceable ones she carried. Deacon’s ‘recall code’, H2-22’s farewell holotape, and the bracelet that Nate gave her with Shaun’s birthstone. 

Evelyn took a look around, trying to find a spot in the ruins where they could hit them at a distance, and hopefully even the numbers before diving in. It was Deacon who found it, a half collapsed apartment building with a window facing the street where the mutants were gathered. Silently, they took position. She could feel Deacons’ disapproving glare as she popped a couple of Mentats, but she ignored him. She knew that he hated it when she used chems, even Med-X, but chems had saved her ass more times than she could count. Hancock never gave her grief over it, but then again, perhaps that wasn’t exactly a strong point in her favor.

But with the boost from the chems, and a little help from VATS, she managed to take down two of the ugly fuckers with headshots before the rest realized they were under attack. She’d never get tired of how damn satisfying that was. Deacon fired next, two shots that brought down a third, but now the others were on high alert. One had a sledgehammer, two had guns. No miniguns, launchers, or fat mans this time, thank God. But their position was compromised. Without a word, they fell into a familiar pattern. Evelyn went right, he went left. Pincer attack. Wait for the mutants to come to them. Being smart had kept both of them alive, in the distant past and in the ravaged future.

It seemed to be working. At close range, Evelyn had Deliverance ready, and let off a series of rapid fire shots into the head of the first super mutant to round the corner. He howled in rage, staggering backward. She could hear Deacon’s shotgun, and deep growls of pain. Probably a glancing shot. Taking time to load her gun gave the mutant the chance to rush forward, sledge in hand. She jumped backwards. The hammer missed her, hitting the concrete wall where her head just was, cracking it soundly. 

Six more shots. The last one hit his right eye, and he crumpled. One left, and while it managed to back Deacon up a fair way, he seemed to have it under control-- she could see the mutant struggling to limp towards him with a crippled leg. So far, not a scratch. But that was her mistake. She thought it was over. She let her guard down. And that was when she heard it. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

She could feel her heart leap as the adrenaline seized her. Evelyn spun on her heel, looking for the source, ready to shoot, to run. Running was a better plan. But she had to know the right direction. 

Beep. Beep. 

Shit. Where the hell was it?? With time running out, she fumbled for some Jet, and took a hard hit as fast as she could. Time slowed. The mutant going after Deacon fell, severed arm flying. Then Deacon was running forward, shouting. Evelyn turned around, only to see the suicider was less than three feet away. 

The next few moments were a blur. It was suddenly cold and dark, and then the whole world rocked with the force of the explosion, and she was blind and deaf to everything. 

Except that goddamn ringing. 

It took longer than it should for her to realize that was a good thing. It meant she wasn’t dead. She tried to move, but that was when she experienced the downside of not being dead. Everything hurt. A sharp breath told her that the air was thick with smoke and rads, and that there was something wrong with her lungs. Or maybe her ribs. Something that made it painful and difficult to breathe. Evelyn coughed, and the agony that followed made everything go white. Made her wonder if it would have been better to get blown to bits. 

With a momentous effort, she pulled her arm from underneath her and reached out. She still couldn’t see, but feeling around might help to get her bearings. And what about Deacon? Was he alive? He was running towards her, the idiot. Mere inches in front of her face, something smooth blocked her hands. Her gloves scraped uselessly at it, and as far as her arm could reach, there was nothing else-- wait. A crack. Evelyn dug her fingers into it and pulled. It shifted, the tiniest bit. Through the horrid ringing, she started to hear someone shouting. She tugged again. Another fraction of an inch. An attempt was made to get Deacon’s attention, but between her inability to hear much else, and the smoke that immediately filled her lungs and made her choke, she wasn’t sure if she made any sound at all.

Then, blinding light. She shut her eyes, flinching from it. Fresh air surrounded her, clearing her space, but the slowly fading ringing was exposing the angry static of her geiger counter. Radiation. Right. Mini nuke. 

“--et you out of here. Hancock will kill me if I let you turn into a prettier ghoul than him.” 

There wasn’t a chance to so much as crack a smile before the pain hit. She screamed, the sound the first to echo perfectly, eerily clear since the explosion. She blacked out-- then she was in Deacon’s arms, looking up at him. His eyes were blue. That was the last thing that went through her mind before she was out again. 

\---

When she opened her eyes, she saw a ceiling, a wall, a broken window. Night sky. The glow of a lantern. The pain was bearable, but she was so exhausted she could barely move. A glance to the side revealed a bag of Rad-Away plugged into her arm. That would explain a lot, including why she was hungry enough to eat a full brahmin. 

The rest of the room came into focus. It looked like an office. Desk, bookshelves, busted terminal. Beside her there was a small pile of empty Stimpaks and a pile of blood soaked rags. A closer look, and she realized those were actually the remnants of her clothes and armor. Well, shit. That was hours of work wasted.

Movement across the room. From the look of it, Deacon had been in the doorway, keeping watch. But when he saw that she was awake, he closed the door and set his gun aside. 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” That same casual tone, easy grin. But there was a tightness to his words, and he came to her side a little too quickly for that nonchalance to be believable. “Get some nice beauty rest? Not that you need it.” 

Normally, she’d be happy to throw a quip back at him, but she was just too damn tired. She attempted a grin, though, and tried to sit up. Deacon steadied her, and eventually got her leaning against the wall without jostling the IV too much. Once the room stopped spinning, Evelyn gestured in the vague direction of the pile nearby that she was pretty sure contained the remnants of her pack. 

“Any water survive? Or food? Please tell me we have food.” 

Her eyes were closed, but she heard rummaging. Something was placed in her lap. 

“Fois gras and champagne, madame. Best I can do, considering the circumstances.” 

That time, he coaxed a small laugh out of her. In her lap she discovered a bottle of purified water, mutfruit, and the last of the deathclaw steak. Ah, yes. If only it had been a deathclaw. 

She went for the food first, absolutely ravenous. Rad-Away did that to a person. She barely took the time to breathe between devouring the food and chugging half the water. God, she hoped she wasn’t going to throw up. Should have paced herself. But she was already feeling a bit better, more stable. Finally, she took a proper look at Deacon, who’d switched into his blue jacket and blonde wig, admittedly one of the disguises that she thought suited him better. 

“You doing okay? How long was I out?” Evelyn sighed, setting aside the water. “Shit. Dez isn’t going to be happy if we’re late.” 

“Yeah, well. She’ll deal.” The hard tone got her attention. Gone was the grin, replaced by a stony expression and firm lips. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get there when we get there. We’re not moving until you’re back on your feet.” 

A long silence followed. Deacon knew there was little point in lying to her, including lies of omission. Conceited as it might seem, she was on a different level than the others. Most people? They saw him as a liar, an unknown quantity, which made them understandably nervous. But Evelyn dealt in lies, too. Or she used to. But 200 years hadn’t worn the edges of her training, thanks to Vault-Tec’s enforced nap. “So, a while, then. Must’ve been bad.” She glanced over at him, but with his clothes changed, it was hard to tell if he was injured. That was when she noticed that he’d given her one of his outfits to wear. Just jeans and a t-shirt, but as clean as could be hoped for, and not drenched in blood. 

And as ridiculous as she knew it was, her cheeks flushed a bit at the thought of Deacon changing her clothes. There wasn’t really a choice, was there? She was obviously a mess. Stupid. She tried not to dwell on it. “And my clothes are a loss too, apparently. That ambush could have gone better.” 

One of the reasons that Deacon and Evelyn got along so well was that they had a similar attitude. Brush things off, use humor, act laid back and casual, so that they weren’t a threat. So that people would find them agreeable. But for once, Deacon wasn’t responding in kind. He was quiet, and with his eyes covered, it was hard to read him. 

“Deacon... you okay?” Her tone was cautious, concerned. This wasn’t like him. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Somehow, she doubted it. Another silence followed, tense and loaded. It was obvious that there was something he wasn’t saying, but she knew better than to push. So she waited patiently. And in the next minute, she watched his jaw tense, his brows draw together, his face turn slightly to the left. “Once you can walk, I’m gonna drop you off at Goodneighbor. I’ll report to Dez.” 

That... was not the response she expected. Now even more concerned, Evelyn sat up straighter. “What? Why?” 

“I’ll tell Hancock to get you back home. Keep an eye on you. Maybe take it easy for a while, yeah? I’m sure he’s got plenty of ways to help you relax.” 

Evasion aside, yeah, something was definitely up. She didn’t like it. And as always, his tone was deceptively neutral, almost dismissive. Damn those glasses. It was part of why he wore them, she was sure. Harder to read him. And right now, she was after something that no one could hope to get out of Deacon on the best day-- a straight answer. 

“Hey, hold up. Talk to me, Deacon.” Her voice was firm, but she didn’t want him to think she was angry. “What’s really going on here? No bullshitting. You owe me better than that.” 

She didn’t want to use that card. But Deacon was her friend, or so he claimed. She wanted to believe that was the truth. As contradictory as it seemed, for her part, it had always been far easier to be open and honest with Deacon than with anyone else she’d met in the Commonwealth. Maybe it was because she understood the lies, the evasion, the deflecting humor. She never took it personally. She never expected him to give or say more than he wanted to. It was almost refreshing, in a way, to rely more on his actions than his words. But there were times that she wished he’d be straight with her, like right now. 

He hesitated. That alone said something. He obviously wanted to lie, but the admittedly dirty play she’d pulled made him reconsider. Not daring to break the silence, she waited. 

“You almost died out there.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, that happens. A lot.” 

“No, I mean--” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “You were... a mess. Worse than that. When I opened the shelter, I thought you’d gone ghoul.” Shelter? That made sense. She’d survived by diving into one of those Pulowski shelters. Dumb luck or providence, who the hell knew? “I mean, ghoul is better than dead. Mostly. But...” He was still struggling. What was it he didn’t want to say? Evelyn slowly leaned forward, putting a hand on his arm. 

“Please, Deacon. Just tell me.” 

Then, the dam broke. “You make my job damn difficult, you know that?” He sounded... tired. Tired laced with a lot of tension. “Following after you ain’t easy. Keeping you alive. You have a real talent for getting yourself into trouble.” 

She still felt like she was missing something important in all this. She thought back. Back to everything they’d been through. Back to when she met him. Back further, when she was fresh and green to the Commonwealth, blundering around with one half-formed goal in mind. And then, something clicked. 

“Ever since I left the vault, you’ve been following me. At least since Concord.” That was well established. She’d given him a lot of shit about it later, his decent disguises but shit improvisational skills. “But when I followed the Freedom Trail, Desdemona didn’t know who I was. So you weren’t acting on her orders.” He went still. Got him. “Somehow, you knew that I was leaving that Vault, and you kept tabs on me. Why?” 

After a moment, he smirked. “Right, that secret agent thing? Seeing it now. Guess I met my match.” Deacon rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Look, I... I can’t really spill it all. But remember when I said I’ve always been in your corner? It’s true. And yeah, I’ve been looking after you. Damn good thing, too. For a sniper, you sure do a shit job at checking your surroundings.” 

Something about Deacon shadowing her, following her like a mostly stealthy guardian angel, made her smile. “I guess it’s me who owes you, then.” 

But that only earned her a frown in return. “You’re starting to worry me, here. A guy stalks you, lies to you, arguably manipulates you, and that’s how you react?” 

“Yeah, well. That guy just so happens to be you, so it’s fine.” It was her turn to rely on humor, now, with an easy shrug. “Anyone else pulling that shit would get a bullet between the eyes. You should know, you’ve seen it. Lots of faces. Lots of bullets.” 

Finally got a grin, at least. “So what makes me so special?” 

“Eh, I like you. Can’t resist that sarcastic charm.” It was way more than ‘like’, if she was being honest with herself. And she knew that her eyes were wandering, tracing his lips, the line of his jaw. She didn’t mean to. But strangely enough, if there was one person in that God-forsaken hellscape that she didn’t think she could cope without, it was him. Against all better judgement, she trusted him more than anyone- and she was pretty sure up to 98% of everything he’d ever said to her had been a lie. Her smile faded, all pretense dropped. Too late to go back now, so she took a leap of faith. “I trust you, Deacon. Stupid of me, probably, but that’s how it is.” 

You can’t trust everyone. That was irrefutable. But she could trust a specific someone. 

“Evelyn...” That was when she knew he was serious. Not Charmer. Not Nora. Her real name. She could feel her breath catch, a tiny flip in her stomach. It was the first time anyone had used her real name in.... a very, very long time. Years before the bombs fell. 

He had her full attention now, and he knew it. But there he was, hesitating again. She waited, and waited, and just when she was about to give up, to make some light-hearted comment to brush all of this aside, he kissed her.

To say she wasn’t expecting it was putting it extremely mildly. But there wasn’t a single thought in her head to stop him. Instead, she grasped his jacket, pulled him closer. His hand was cradling her jaw, the other wrapped around her back, and the kiss deepened. She followed his lead gladly, somewhat vindicated to find that what she’d been trying so hard to repress wasn’t as one sided as she feared. She could feel it in the way he held her, in the unrestrained passion of his kiss, the way he actually trembled. She was shaking, too, feeling lightheaded, like the first drop on a tall roller coaster. It made her feel like a kid again, like someone who hadn’t been jaded from years of undercover work, someone who hadn’t learned to bury all of her personal feelings to play at someone else’s life. These were her feelings, and they were absolutely liberating. All she had to do was ignore that part of her that said this was a very bad idea. She wouldn't be able to look at him the same after this. But another, louder part of her said that she couldn’t care less. 

But then, in retrospect, she really should have known better. There was suddenly cold metal at the back of her neck, a thin line of steel that seemed metaphorical as well as physical. Deacon pulled away, but only just. Evelyn could see their breath fogging the surface of his sunglasses. Another lesson. She swore she could actually feel her heart cracking. Stupid. She was so stupid.

For long, tense seconds, neither of them spoke. But his warm, stuttering breath on her lips at least told a truth that he couldn’t deny. Whatever he tried to say after this, or whatever he tried not to say, that kiss was honest. He'd never convince her otherwise. She could trust that, even if he was doing his damn best to remind her that she shouldn’t trust him.

“Not even you?” 

“Especially not me.” 

It cost him something to say that, it was painfully obvious. And after another long moment, the knife was gone, and he backed off, putting distance between them in more ways than one. It was a harsh lesson, for both of them. And while Evelyn knew that he was right, if there was ever a rule that she wanted to go out of her way to break, it was this one. Despite her best efforts, heat and pressure were gathering behind her eyes, threatening tears, so she looked away. 

“Maybe taking a break would be a good idea.” 

“...Yeah.” 

He stood, grabbed his gun, and resumed his post. It was a long, quiet night after that, and when she woke up the next morning, he was gone. An hour later, Hancock showed up, annoyed as hell at the dozen landmines that Deacon had set up around the room, but relieved to see her. As glad as she was to see him, there was no shaking the uneasiness that made her heart feel heavy as lead. Somehow, she knew she wasn’t going to be seeing Deacon for a while. 

\---

It was more than a while. Months. Not until the battle of Bunker Hill. And even then, it was brief, professional, cold. It left her feeling empty and isolated, but there wasn’t any time to sulk. She had a job to do, and lives were depending on her.

She’d never been in a war zone before. At least, not directly in the middle of one. It was chaos. The Railroad, the Institute synths, and the Brotherhood of Steel, all fighting around the unfortunate residents of Bunker Hill. And, as she found out, a few raiders that were brave enough to take advantage of the situation. 

It had been easier than she expected to kill the Courier assigned to her. A few shots in the back of the head, done. It really struck her then, how much the Institute had come to trust her. He never saw it coming. At least there was something she’d done right.

For the most part, Evelyn and MacCready stayed on the outskirts, picking off synths and staying out of sight. Though admittedly, she may have taken down a BoS vertibird out of spite. Things were going well, only a few cuts and bruises. But as the battle died down, other dangers lurked. And she didn’t notice the raider that had been carefully coming up behind her, not until she felt something snap around her neck, and the familiar and unsettling prick of a needle.

“Sweet dreams, missy.”


End file.
